


The Icarus of the Lambs.

by goopclaws



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Blood As Lube, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, Don't Like Don't Read, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, Evil Wilbur Soot, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fucked Up, Gratuitous Smut, Gross, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masochism, Mind Rape, Minecraft, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Other: See Story Notes, Pet Names, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, S&M, Sadism, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence, Shameless Smut, Smut, Torture, Uninformed Consent, Villain Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Wilbur Soot, Violence, Violent Sex, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27094717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goopclaws/pseuds/goopclaws
Summary: "So do you plan to kill me? Or are you more mature than that, Wilbur?" Schlatt let a sadistic grin creep up the curvatures of his mouth, chest blooming in callous, bestial pleasure. Wilbur wore a tattered trench coat, one that was dirtied with far dried blood and dirt, deep bags clouded his under-eyes, and his eyes were mad. Schlatt looked him up and down, almost wary for a sliver of a second.Schlatt noticed, just barely through the dark, Wilbur resisting the arch of his lips, biting back any signs of the fire lighting his brutal coffee scented eyes, it was almost enough to make Schlatt worry, almost, "I'm much more mature than that, Schlatt." Wilbur cooed, and as hard as he may try, the same sadistic rumble that tainted Schlatt’s voice would also trail his fellow deviant's words.
Relationships: Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 24
Kudos: 396





	The Icarus of the Lambs.

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction includes sexual and violent scenes with the personas (more specifically Dream SMP personas) of real people. If this makes you uncomfortable or you disagree with it, please do not read this, and defiantly do not comment anything discouraging my use of themes with the personas of JSchlatt and Wilbur Soot on the Dream SMP in my writing.
> 
> Please do not spread this 'fic anywhere, especially on social media where the creators featured could see, and do not inform them of this 'fic's existence, as I do not wish to make anyone uncomfortable. If you feel the need to tell me how disgusting I am for writing this, you can if you really want to, but just know, I don't encourage anyone to write similar to what I do, and I don't like that I write things like this either. I am neurodivergent, and hyperfixated on Schlattbur, and the only way I can express this is to write fanfiction, I am anonymous and only go by the alias goop/goopclaws for a reason. Just know, if you do comment something discouraging me, it's something I've already told myself beforehand, and I appreciate your concern for the creators involved.
> 
> Thank you!

Schlatt was a simple man, simple in his tastes, simple to every groove of the marrow ghosting his bones. Despite his simplicity, he was still a tyrannical man, his wickedness ran deeper than any marrow, deeper than the clots of blood soaking the walls of his insides, deeper than any organ in his body, all except the heart. He was cruel, venomous, a dictator to his citizens, this he knew, this he knew as well as he knew the citizens of his 'Manberg wanted him out of office as much as he wanted to destroy any confidence still remaining in those foolish, foolish cavities they call their skulls. Schlatt might be evil, he might be merciless, damned he be anything but a power hungry egotistical poison to the world, but he remained simple, defined by plain tastes, and defined by plain actions. Considering he was an evil tyrant with ram horns growing from his head, you wouldn't expect him to take walks in the woods late at night, without a bodyguard in sight. Your expectations have been flawed, as he decayed leaves under his heel with each step against the pines and leaves showering the midnight floor, eyes trained on the glowering milk moon staring back down at him, in fear. Possibly, his view of himself might be stroked up by his feigned allies, or his psychopathic tenancies stroke him all the same, but there was one man who had him cackling each time he heard his name from how he shriveled up any hope still left scattering his idiotic mind, and pleads still ghosting his lips, any praise falling to his feet, and this man stroked his ego stronger than any other soul. 

Wilbur Soot. It hadn't been long, no, not long at all, since Schlatt's presidency reigned over 'Manberg, and had banished the man from all he worked to build, his country, his movement, his home. It sent jittery tingles to Schlatt's stomach just thinking about how he ruined Wilbur, how he drank up any positive emotion that dared cross the outcast's mind for even a moment. Perhaps, Schlatt had become too cocky with his pitiful antecedent, but no, no, how could he? The man was too small, too worthless, too despair driven for you to not want to strike your heel into the center of his jaw and jumble around that idiotic brain keeping him alive until blood soaked your shoe. So, Schlatt decided as he walked, heels crackling leaves in his wake, these heels stainless, that he was innocent. 

The crack of a twig alarmed him for only a moment, the distinct bitter noise of a boot on the forest floor, a clumsy boot, not one of any brainless monster. The ram-man grimaced, hand naturally phantom atop the sheath of his sword, though this fret did not last long, not when considering who he was, who the people around him were, how weak they all were compared to him. Another stick crinkles. Schlatt grins, "You've given yourself away, you and I both know that." Silence greets his proud, proud words, "What, are you scared?" The egging on of whoever stalked the forest soil seemed to prove worthy as a familiarly hazel haired rebel prowled from the shadows of the forest, his face slate, not daring to betray any of his plans, "So do you plan to kill me? Or are you more mature than that, Wilbur?" Schlatt let a sadistic grin creep up the curvatures of his mouth, chest blooming in callous, bestial pleasure. Wilbur wore a tattered trench coat, one that was dirtied with far dried blood and dirt, deep bags clouded his under-eyes, and his eyes were mad. Schlatt looked him up and down, almost wary for a sliver of a second. 

Schlatt noticed, just barely through the dark, Wilbur resisting the arch of his lips, biting back any signs of the fire lighting his brutal coffee scented eyes, it was almost enough to make Schlatt worry, almost, "I'm much more mature than that, Schlatt." Wilbur cooed, and as hard as he may try, the same sadistic rumble that tainted Schlatt’s voice would also trail his fellow deviant's words. Wilbur strode towards the ram, Schlatt's fingers twitching against the handle of his sword, "Now, now, don't get so scared, Emperor Schlatt." Wilbur chirped, his voice low and disfigured in feigned calm, but Schlatt knew, he knew the feelings lurching at Wilbur's muscles at the insanity of it all, he knew the way his heart would shrivel and die just for the chance to dismember his successor, he knew it all too well. Schlatt chuckled at his useless taunting, his sword beginning to slip from its sheath, but before Schlatt could back away from the man, a vigorous calloused grip held his fingers in place, the grip tight enough to bruise the president's wrist, his attacker leaning in close, too close, far too close as he dug his nails deep into the beds of Schlatt's skin, "Emperor, oh Emperor Schlatt, what a name!" He let out a dry, degrading laugh, "What a name for such a weak man. What, do you want me to kill you? No, no you want me to torture you. Why not unsheathe your sword, defend your land won't you, Emperor?" His voice was taunting, low to the ground as his lips felt ghastly pressed to Schlatt's ear, and they both knew Wilbur's grip was too inviolable for Schlatt to tear his arm away now.

"I'll call my bodyguards down here, Wilbur Soot. You're on 'Manberg territory, and you're harassing the president." Schlatt hissed, voice coiled in hid away fear as he tugged against Wilbur's bruising grip, Wilbur not failing to only press harder, the goat-man suppressing a groan from the pressure, "What do you want with me? Items? An ego boost? If you want to kill me, do it already, you're so childish." Schlatt spewed, his voice tense and his vile, sadistic, grin had begun to ooze down his face as his chest winced at the teetering pain striking his bruised, limp, wrist.

Wilbur grinned into the flesh of Schlatt's ear, "Schlatt, you're on no-man’s land, this isn't your territory. You truly are an Icarus, and you’ve flown far too close to the sun." His voice was barely a whisper, though it sent Schlatt's eardrums roaring as he scanned his surroundings. He had no idea where he was. Schlatt repressed the sweat daring to bead at his forehead, the pain unbearable, and just enough to leave him a few pitches from giving into the sociopath beginning to twist his wrist, enough to at least sprain it, slowly, painfully, like a leech, and groaning from the metronome clicking against his skull. Schlatt was close to falling limp from the pressure of his brain fuzzing up in confusion and denial of the situation he was oh so suddenly forced into, he says as if every single moment of this hadn't stemmed from him trespassing alone in the darkness of the forest, following a no-man's path with all the conviction in the world aimed at his safety and triumph. He was supposed to be shoving his shoes down Wilbur's throat right now, crushing his skull with bloodied heels, not having a broken wrist and moaning in his perverted rival's ears, "Victim! Victim! Oh I'm a victim!" Wilbur mocked, nails digging back into Schlatt's sunken wrist, "Baby, you're not my first victim, not by far, so why don't you take this like a good boy?"

"Wilbur-" He grunted, a chuckle sounded, a venomous one, one that made his ears ring, "Wilbur, if you want something, fucking tell me already! What do you fucking want?" His voice was a veined yell, but desperation sunk below it, and Schlatt knew he was done for. Any egotistical thoughts clouding his mind had been replaced with the need to run, the need to scream, the need to have Wilbur far, far away from him, "Wilbur!" He screamed to his attacker, eyes ablaze and chest stiffened, stiffened tightly, oh so tightly. 

Wilbur leered back from the ram's ear, Cheshire grin vilifying his expression, screwing up any charm he may have had before as he tipped Schlatt's head up with free thumb-pad, eyes sadistically perverted as he stared down, slowly, to his prey writhing against him, broken wrist sending sparks through his veins, turning his blood red hot, his stomach queasy, clenching, clenching as his fear did, "Well, Schlatt, is there something you want?" They both knew the goat's pride would never let him reveal his want to flee, his want to cry, "If you want something you'll have to beg for it, Emperor." His voice was cool, low, slowly teasing the now openly painfully groaning man as he tugged his now far past broken wrist at the base of Wilbur's palm helplessly, refusing to make anymore than pained grunts, but he could barely manage not to scream, not to let a single tear slip down the dips of his eyes.

Schlatt bared his heels against the dirt, kicking them into the soil as if it would bare him of the pain nullifying his brain, "You're a psychopath, Wilbur Soot!" the tyrant groaned, but he could feel his heart halt at the way Wilbur looked at him. The former president’s villainous smile had dropped, his face slack as he stared long at the ram, his eyes seemed hollow as he clenched his jaw. A knee reared into Schlatt's own, causing a croak of pain to release from his throat, face grim and pained. The knee rammed into his continuously, blood catching his matte black slacks as it continued, Schlatt spewing out pleas and cries, his ego no more, and his pride withering into the depth of his chest, "Please! Wilbur! Wilbur, please stop! Stop, please! I'm bleeding! Please! I'm begging, please stop it, it hurts, you'll break it-" He caved, and he could feel that wicked grin reach the grooves of Wilbur's lips once more, shame bled through every bone in his body, soaking the marrow, deeply, deeply.

Wilbur cooed to him, his knee halting, his free hand not squeezing Schlatt's wrist now petting his head, running bloodied palms over lavish chestnut hair, "What a good boy, what a good, good boy." He left a sliver of a kiss along Schlatt's cheek, it felt dirty, gross, filthy, "Now, don't call me Wilbur, call me God. I reign over all of you ants below me, and you will acknowledge that, scum. You got that?" Schlatt moaned out in the pain echoing throughout his kneecap, nodding his head hastily, tears welling at his eyes, Wilbur squeezed his wrist tighter, "Answer when you're spoken to! I said do you fucking got that, shit for brains?"

Schlatt nodded his head fervently, tugging his wrist against Wilbur's palm, "Yes, Wil- God! Yes!" He cried, Wilbur easing up his hold once again, though not enough for Schlatt to tug his wrist away, especially when limp and sullen in Wilbur's palm. Wilbur let his hand run softly over silky hair once more, fingertip gliding up sensitive, coiled horns, causing a shuddered groan to elapse from Schlatt's lips, which he very much regretted as a heat boiled low in his stomach, Wilbur venomously smirking to his victim. 

"So your horns are sensitive, baby?" Schlatt shivered at the nickname, hating the vile sweetness that clung to the pet name, the sweetness that had far ventured from Wilbur himself. The former president ran filthy hands against the grooves of Schlatt's horns, the subtle feeling that struck the base of his horns soon leaving for Schlatt’s throat, choking him almost playfully, until nails were bruising his throat and breath left Schlatt’s brain deep within the pit of his chest. Wilbur huffed, running his hand used to choke the ram through sweat soaked locks, the hair curling further from the dampness, before returning to clawing his nails against the dictator's throat, bruises already forming along the frail skin.

Schlatt whined the best he could, shifting so his, shamefully, half hard cock would settle easy in his slacks, which only caused him to notice the fully hard erection Wilbur had, the sadistic, evil glimmer of his caramel eyes never faltering for even a mere second, the blood soaking his hands from whatever was unfortunate to meet him that night before Schlatt, just as the beads of sweat did to his skin, he was beyond ruined, beyond perverted, all over torturing the leader of a land he claimed to be forever loyal to. Wilbur let Schlatt's throat free of it's hold, Schlatt immediately writhing under the still hold of Wilbur's dirtied palm on his wrist. The former 'Manberg president pulled back from Schlatt for a moment, unzipping his pants slowly, very, very slowly, fear littering Schlatt's mind as he watched, his body too broken for him to get up and run, his eyes too foggy to even think to flee in the first place. Now, Wilbur held his cock before Schlatt, prodding it at his lips as they kneeled down close to the ground, "Suck." Schlatt blinked up at him, brain screaming in static, his face falling, and Wilbur wasn't patient in his wait, "I said suck, whore!" Schlatt winced, leaning in and dipping the tip of him between his lips, choking down as much of Wilbur as he could, attempting to adjust to the feeling of a cock stuffed down his throat. Schlatt wasn't a very sexual man, not at all, so this was a new experience, a gross, evil, sickening experience he wished to escape from as his wrist was squeezed once more, causing him to groan onto Wilbur's dick. Wilbur growled, "You're useless." Wilbur decided, now, hand gripping onto one of Schlatt's horns, using it as a handle to fuck himself into Schlatt's throat, the ram-man gagging on his size as tears strolled down his swollen cheeks, moans and cries releasing from his throat, the hums vibrating Wilbur's cock, "Ah- Ah- Fuck. Your- Ah- Your throats so fucking tight, yeah, ah, so fucking tight for me." The brunette slurred, brows tensed as he released Schlatt's wrist entirely, stroking his face gently, running over the ram’s facial hair gently, almost enough to cool Schlatt’s mind, before grabbing onto Schlatt’s other horn and fucking rougher into the tyrant's bruised mouth. 

"Ah- Ah! You- Ah- Your mouths so fucking slutty, ugh, you're so tight around me, fuck, you're such a fucking whore." His voice was far gone, teasing slurred into deep prowling sadism as he roughed himself up into the very back of Schlatt's throat, the smaller man gagging around him as he groaned lowly, begging for escape. Wilbur's thrusts slowed, his bucking coming in chaste spurts, until cum was watering down Schlatt's throat, and to keep the goat-man from spitting out the precious seed, Wilbur shoved his cum in further with his cock, half grunting half egotistically chucking at the pathetic figure of a hard, sobbing, Schlatt choking down his cum, his words and cries betraying the glint of lust and arousal glimmering in his luminous scarlet eyes, “Ah, fuck, Schlatt, open your mouth again for me.” And for whatever reason, Schlatt obliged immediately, wincing at his own eagerness, all Wilbur did was offer a knowing, evil, merciless, grin, sticking a bloodied finger into Schlatt’s mouth, “Suck.”

Schlatt, reluctantly, sucked on the digit, unsurprised when a second and third fell between his lips as well, soaking the digits in as much saliva as he possibly could, “Do you like getting kicked and abused by your God, bitch? Huh? You like having God’s dick shoved down your pathetic throat so badly, too? Such a good boy obeying my commands.” All Schlatt could offer to his words was a groan, nodding around dry blood on calloused fingers, murmuring something along the lines of “Yes God” under the pressure of Wilbur’s fingers.

Now, Wilbur flipped the president onto his stomach on the forest floor, the man’s back arching by instinct, Wilbur letting a dry, cruel chuckle relapse from an evil grin, his cock half hard again already as he positioned his palms around Schlatt’s hips, leering over top of him from behind, forehead gently pressed to the goat-man’s spine, hands working at stripping down the pathetic ruler. Schlatt grimaced as his behind was open view for his capturer, a finger prodding at his hole as Wilbur choked the man again with the hand not opening Schlatt up, though less harmful this time around, thumb-pad caressing the bruised skin of Schlatt’s throat, the goat wriggling underneath him. Chapped, bitter, kisses were pressed against the goosebumps lining his spine, suit jacket pressed up just enough for Wilbur’s lips and forehead, it was almost romantic if you let the context be no more than a whisper in your mind, “You’ve been such a good boy, so I think you deserve better lube than spit.” Wilbur husked into Schlatt’s skin, Schlatt feeling the curve of the villain’s lips interrupt his gentle peppers of affection, fear coursing through the president from the feeling. 

Wilbur scissored his fingers into Schlatt for only a moment longer, the uncomfortable prodding being ceased, calming Schlatt’s muscles momentarily, though fear clenched them once more, as something far, far worse was only expected to come from the halt. The sound of sheathe running against Wilbur’s sword sounded against Schlatt’s ears, and he didn’t even have enough tears to begin to cry once again, only hiccups signalling his pitiful, pitiful horror, “God please, don’t, please! Please! Spit is fine, please! It’ll hurt, God please!” The ram screamed, his cries landing on num, monstrous ears, as the tip of the blade pricked his thigh, Wilbur’s chest pressed to Schlatt’s back, thighs on either side of Schlatt’s, and nose pressed to silk honey hair, worthless kisses melting into Schlatt’s scalp, white noise screeching against his ears.

“Now, be grateful, it’ll only hurt for a second, baby.” And oh was the accented man wrong, blade churning up into the bare skin of Schlatt’s thigh, the dictator’s throat sore from his screaming as he did just that, his cries turning to whimpers as he started to feel dizzy, oh so dizzy. As the blade retracted, Schlatt could feel the boil of his blood leak down his thigh, soaking the skin and hair lining it with his insides, his breathing ragged and heavy, shallow, yet retched as he did his best to continue breathing, the dark spots dotting his gaze making his lungs begin to sag. 

Pitched, ragged, screams sounded once again as fingers pricked the wound low on Schlatt’s thigh, quick to dig into the slash, coating Wilbur’s fingers in deep cherry red , and churning Schlatt’s insides, his lips parted, mouth salivating at the inability to focus on anything other than nail’s scraping against his bloodied insides, and the smell of arousal soaking Wilbur. The dirtied man rutted his hips against the back of Schlatt’s inner thighs, pre-cum wetting Schlatt’s upper thighs, Wilbur only diving his fingers in deeper, making sure to streak against each wall, letting his nails claw against these walls. Schlatt felt grainy, his mind fucked into only continuous static as he stared at the deep wine red wetting his thigh, eyes hollow.

The president had been able to somewhat enjoy the torture beforehand due to his masochistic tendencies he had gradually developed as he grew to know Wilbur, coincidentally (or so he says), but now, the pain surged through him so strongly he was practically brain-dead, saliva dribbling down his lip, head busied into the soil, eyes staring to nothing in particular, the reflection of his eyes flat, no longer shimmering with cruel and wicked sadism, only the buzzing pleasure deep in his stomach and the churning pain of Wilbur’s fingers dug deep into his insides, "You're such a whore, I'm sure every night you'll get off to how I fucked you into submission, and stabbed your leg for lube, and how you liked it. Slut." 

Soon, Wilbur released now blood soaked fingers from Schlatt’s thigh, his hips still gently thrusting up against Schlatt, head lowered to nip and kiss at the back of Schlatt’s neck, though it was shallow to Schlatt, practically mute to the sensation of his arousal and bloodied lower thigh. Fingers dipped into his heat once more, blood soaked and scissoring him open, the stretch not even enough to get a blink out of the goat-man, “You truly are a smart, smart, man, Schlatt. But sometimes, even those of brilliants must be put in their God damned place.” How bitter, Schlatt thought under the haze.

Now, Wilbur reared back, hovering over the back of Schlatt, who still lie against the dirt, back now having to be forced into an arch from Wilbur, the former president slicked his cock with his successor’s blood, lining his dick up with a bloodied, spit soaked, hole, evil grin plastering his cheeks as he entered the dictator. Schlatt wined, oh so quietly, almost not enough for Wilbur to hear, he’d think. Wilbur buried his cock deep into Schlatt, letting the man adjust, though it didn’t matter if he did anyway, this was the only time Wilbur had been generous that night in the forest, bodies pressed to the forest floor, “I’m going to move now, baby.” Wilbur cooed in a low, gentle, voice, one that slowed Schlatt’s heart as Wilbur slowly moved inside of Schlatt, hands rubbing up Schlatt’s suit jacket as the man visually calmed, eyes fluttering closed, sleep calling to him from the sudden stop of constant inflictions of pain, but then, the thrusts became violent. 

Wilbur jutted his hips fast into Schlatt, hands now gripping hard into the man’s waist, nails digging deep into the skin similar to how Wilbur had done to his wrists and throat, Schlatt groaning at the feeling. It was strange, different, but not enough to num the pain of his thigh roaring through his nerves. Each thrust only hurt more, each thrust sent shocks through his thigh, each thrust only hollowed his soul out more and more, nothing filling Schlatt any longer, his brain entirely blank, and mind sullen in body wrenching pain. After what felt like years, years of suffering and horror, warm boiled strips filled his hole, his heart heavy in his stomach as Wilbur rode out his climax, groaning lewdly into the ram's ear, leaving Schlatt shuddering. 

Now, Wilbur stood, tucking his cock back into his pants and looking down at his work almost wistfully, sheathing his sword and hiding it away, running calloused, bloody, hands through sweat dampened copper locks, “You know, Schlatt, you’re the most I’ve been obsessed and intrigued by a victim.” He let off a dry, cracked laugh, and Schlatt could only note the use of the word "victim" with a grimace, “I cum to you every night, I think of stabbing you through the chest and fucking the hole every night, I think of your screams every night. You’re such a gross and malicious… thing, and putting you in your place, fucking you, torturing you, taunting you for being such a disgusting and foul creature, it drives me mad, Schlatt, so, so mad.” He sounded deluded as he laughed further, mounting his boot on Schlatt’s cheek, rubbing his heel into the flesh, “You seemed to enjoy it though, so who cares if you consented or not? I hope you’ll think of joining me again-”

“Schlatt! Are you out there?” A familiar voice called, Schlatt’s right hand man, Tubbo. Wilbur looked Schlatt over one more time, maddened panic gleaming over his hormone hazed eyes for a long, long moment, the two of them equally surprised someone had known to come scavenge for Schlatt, “Schlatt! Schlatt!”

Wilbur gave Schlatt his villainous tug of lips, a low, gross, chuckle sounding from the back of his throat, “You know where to find me, Emperor Schlatt.” Without a blinks worth of time, Wilbur was gone, vanishing into the deep dark of the midnight lit forest, now lacking Schlatt’s attention as he listened to the yells of his right hand man, grunting as he attempted at pushing himself up, leg quivering at each try he gave, heart raging against his rib-cage with every fail to stand on blood soaked legs.

Once managing to stand, the ram-man limped to the call of his name, his broken wrist sagging behind him, leg screeching at each step, knee sprained and stab wound splitting open his thigh, along with thick glossy blood and Wilbur’s cum still filling his heat to the brim, his soul desperate to meet the voice calling to him, to be away from the woods and to never return. He fell to the path, tripping on some branch, or a rock, but he couldn’t feel it as he dragged himself against the ground, he gritted his teeth from the pain lurching in his thigh with his fall. Shaggy brunette locks, lantern held high, and worried, worried, blue eyes greeted Schlatt through the midnight dark, his breathing run thin as he stared up at the young man, chest oh so hollow, “Schlatt!” Tubbo peeped, running over to the ram, lowering his lantern in his run. 

Tubbo was a good kid, Schlatt thought. Schlatt knew Tubbo would never remain entirely loyal to him, the kid had no clue where his heart lied, and neither did Schlatt, but he slaved away at building, mining, killing, anything Schlatt wanted, even now, running deep into the night when the president had been late to return, with a lantern held high to the dark sky and sword sheathed against his hip. The brunette helped Schlatt up, rambling off to him about the dictator’s wounds, and asking questions that fell dry against Schlatt’s ears, and soon, the darkness consumed Schlatt, and fear still warmed his gut, fear of the man who lived deep in the forest, with a sadistic Cheshire grin curving his lips to the moon.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and positive comments are very appreciated!
> 
> It's very very obvious the end of this was rushed, but I felt I had already spent enough time on this writing, and I was losing motivation to write it continuously at the end, so I apologizing for the rushed and messy writing near the ending! Despite this, I still had very fun writing it, and was heavily inspired originally by [ this 'fic ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26775154), and recommend you check it out!


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